


Make Your Body Move Like Mine

by Jiksa



Series: You're A Universe [2]
Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, First Time, Heartbreak, Jealousy, M/M, One Night Stands, Open Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:20:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22243957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiksa/pseuds/Jiksa
Summary: He looks beautiful, otherworldly, strobe lights catching in his curls like rays of sunshine. Louis can’t look away.Or, the first time they meet. Prequel toYou're A Universe.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles
Series: You're A Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1003617
Comments: 44
Kudos: 111





	Make Your Body Move Like Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [YesIsAWorld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesIsAWorld/gifts).



> For my darling friend [YesIsAWorld](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YesIsAWorld) and for every single person that read and commented on and recced and talked to me about [You're A Universe](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11669124) \- it was an incredibly intense thing to write and your response to it basically made my heart explode. Thank you — this one’s for you. ♥♥♥

It hits Louis all at once: the air damp and hazy and smothering; the neon strobe lights flickering across a sea of sweat-slick bodies; the deep house beats shuddering through his bones, making his pulse race and drowning out everything else.

It’s the fifth or sixth place they’ve stumbled into so far, the five of them young and reckless and on fire, throwing themselves at the night like it’s never going to end. Calvin’s already fingered some bird in a pub loo, Oli’s got a glossy-red smear around his mouth and Stan’s lost count of how many numbers he’s bagged since they left Nizam’s cousin’s flatshare in Bethnal Green hours ago. 

Louis’s got a few messy, unanswered texts in his phone from Hannah, asking him to come ‘round hers for some irresponsible late night decision making. They broke up for some valid fucking reasons, Louis thinks vaguely, even if neither of them can ever seem to remember said reasons when they’re both sloshed and horny on the wrong side of 2am. The sex is always alright, even if the morning after’s invariably awkward and miserable. It’s a back-up plan, at least.

He’s running low on cash and fags and still hasn’t met another girl to go home with, but he’s in fucking _London_ with his best mates in the entire world, and the city’s at their feet and the noise of it all won’t stop ringing in his ears. 

The speakers blare _just gonna dance all night_ and _so messed up, so out of line_ and _stillettos and broken bottles_ and Louis reaches his arms out and closes his eyes, letting the music sink into him. Tonight, they are _kings_.

Oli lands a punch on his shoulder, his grin all teeth and some bird’s smeared lipstick. “Mate. Shots?”

Louis merely scoffs at the question, and Oli dutifully barks their orders at the lads closer to the bar. Louis catches a thumbs up from Nizam, before remembering, “Need to piss!”

He pushes blindly through the damp, flushed bodies in his way, brushing against broad shoulders and nice tits and thick thighs and round arses. Everything’s bright and beautiful and glistening with sweat and glitter. A girl catches his eye, her head thrown back as she dances with her arms over her head, her mouth open in a wide grin. Fuck, he’s itching to touch someone. Might as well be her.

He ambles past a cigarette machine, stumbles down a dimly lit hallway and turns a corner into another room. The music’s different here, low and throbbing, bodies draped across sofas and armchairs and the lights a little more muted and— oh— fuck, _two blokes snogging on a sofa in the back corner_.

He nearly hurts himself jerking backwards, guiltily tearing his gaze away and—

—and—

—and it’s like in a film, their bodies crashing and the world tilting on its axis, the colors going bright and wild and everything hazy around the edges, a flush of heat and a touch of vertigo, something clenching low in Louis’s belly when the boy grips his arms to steady him. Louis’s hand wraps around the boy’s hips without his say-so, his fingers digging in without permission, his eyes dropping greedily to the boy’s mouth before he can stop himself. The kid’s eyes are dark when Louis belatedly raises his gaze, strobe lights catching in his curls like rays of sunshine, his pink mouth inches from Louis’s own.

It’s like looking into the sun: utterly fucking blinding.

Louis’s phone goes off once in his pocket, and then twice more. He swallows thickly.

The kid’s face breaks into an odd, slow grin, before leaning close enough to graze the shell of Louis’s ear. “Sorry,” he murmurs, his breath making all the hair stand up on the back of Louis’s neck. Louis has to squeeze his eyes shut against how weak it makes his knees. “Didn’t spill my drink on you, did I?”

Everything shudders out of Louis’s lungs in one shaky exhale. “No,” he says, his heart hammering in his chest. The scent of him is heady, rich and expensive and intoxicating. Louis has to stop himself from turning his face into him. His hand flexes involuntarily on the kid’s hip. “D-don’t think so.”

“Good,” the boy says, pulling back just enough to meet Louis’s gaze again. There’s a dimple in his cheek and that awful, strange look in his eyes still. “Should let me buy you one.”

“What?” Louis says. He should get out of this guy’s space, get back to his mates, call Hannah or try to get underneath that girl from earlier or just fucking _leave_ , but he still can’t move. “Sorry?”

“Harry,” the guy says, pressing his hand into Louis’s and squeezing firmly. His skin is warm and clammy and confusing, and Louis doesn’t want to let go. Harry’s still holding his elbow with his other hand, keeping him close. “What’s your name?”

“Louis.”

“You here with someone, Louis?”

“Mates,” Louis says, flushing at the thought of being caught like this. His mouth feels all gummy and useless and at risk of doing something utterly fucking stupid. He can’t stop looking at Harry’s. “I, uh, need to piss.”

That dimple pops in Harry’s cheek again, like he’s trying to bite down on a smile. “Can meet you at the bar after if you want. I mean, if you wanted.”

Louis doesn’t know what to say, so he just says, “Sure.”

“Only if you wanted,” Harry says, and Louis watches, transfixed, as Harry worries his plump bottom lip with his teeth. “Only then.”

Louis nods, averting his eyes. Fuck, he’s sweating. “Yeah, no. Yeah. Sure.”

“Okay,” Harry says, taking a step back that nearly sends Louis off-balance. “Loo’s that way.”

Louis doesn’t exactly flee, or anything, he just— He’s busting, is all. He checks the messages on his phone as he blindly shoulders his way through the crowd. Three texts from Oli. His hands are shaking.

_LOL wait its a fcking gaybar mate were keaving_

_dont drop the soap in the loo whatever you do ahaha_

_come to the brunswick arms down the street, wall to wall fit birds, teqila’s waitning for you at hte bar_

Louis needs to _leave_.

He keeps his head down, pulling his prick out with shaking hands at the urinal and trying to relax enough to piss even when his heart’s running wild in his chest. There’s another two blokes necking against a toilet stall door, barely a few feet away from him, and a man in a woman’s dress and a face full of loud, glittery makeup applying lipstick in the mirror.

He catches his — her? — eye by accident. _Drag queen_ , Louis thinks. She glances at the two boys grinding against each other, and then back at Louis, smirking.

“Shake it more than twice, you’re playing with it, honey,” she says with a lazy, nasal drawl, dropping her eyes to his groin with unmistakable interest. “Not that anyone here would mind.”

Louis blushes furiously, tucking himself back into his pants and doing his flies up as quickly as possible. He thrusts his hands under the sink for a cursory rinse on his way out, panic rising in him as he weighs up his options. He needs to get out of here, find his mates, get a bloody grip on himself.

But fuck, that _boy._

Louis feels completely fucking stupid with how much he wants to be close to him again, how much he’d like to be pressed between a toilet stall door and that boy’s body, how desperately he’d like that boy’s hands down his own pants, but he can’t, it’s not, he can’t—

He’s not stupid, he’s _suspected_ these things about himself for a while, but it turns out there’s a startling difference between glancing at boys in gym wardrobes and guiltily sneaking videos on the internet and wanking himself raw _wondering_ , and— well, and _knowing_ because of a boy’s body pressed close against his own, warm and alive and strong, and everything in Louis’s body imploding with desire.

He stops by the exit, fishing his phone back out of his pocket. There’s a snap from Hannah he doesn’t bother opening, a missed call from Stan, another text from Oli saying, _MATE where are u_. He flicks the screen off, holding it tight in his hands as he presses his knuckles to his mouth.

He could still make a run for it, slip back into formation, down another few shots and chase skirts and pretend none of this ever happened. He could go back to Hannah’s, take her clothes off and lick her out like she likes, squeeze her tits while she rides him like she won’t regret it in the morning.

But Louis can just spy Harry across the club, a little to the side of the bar, looking out at the dance floor and nodding his head to the beat. He looks beautiful, otherworldly, like a once in a lifetime shot at something Louis didn’t ever think he’d risk.

The lads have a shot waiting for him down the road. They wouldn’t understand.

His phone vibrates again, startling him, and he fires off a quick text to Oli before he loses his nerve. His hands shake as he types, _omw to Hannahs … yknow how it is ;)_

Oli’s reply is immediate, like he’s been hanging on to his phone and waiting for signs of life. They’ve always got each other’s backs. _LOL GET IT BROTHER_

They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t. Fuck, Louis needs to go.

Louis takes a deep breath, adjusting his T-shirt and brushing his fringe out of his flushed face. The crowd barely yields for him as he makes his way towards the bar, but it doesn’t deter him. Harry looks up when he’s close, a grin blooming on his face like a fucking sunrise.

 _Yeah, okay,_ Louis thinks madly. Maybe he might just... _get it_.

—

Harry shoves him against the wall as soon as they’re through the door, his mouth relentless against Louis’s, hot and wet and demanding and wickedly clever. He pushes Louis’s coat off of his shoulders with quick, sure hands, letting it fall to a heap on the floor.

“So hot,” he mutters into Louis’s panting mouth as he bodily presses Louis’s hips and shoulders back against the wall. Harry’s hard in his tight jeans, not doing anything to hide it. “Wanna do everything to you.”

Louis responds in kind, unsure of what’s on offer but desperate for as much of it as he can get. He’s _wanted_ since he crashed into Harry on that dance floor, _wanted_ as Harry told him terrible jokes over worse cocktails and fucking _wanted_ as Harry’s hand crept between Louis’s thighs in the taxi ride to Primrose Hill. He’s desperately hard, recklessly brave, sweating through his shirt and so, so desperate for whatever’s coming. “You, though. _Fuck_.”

“Gonna blow you,” Harry says, his fingers quick and nimble on Louis’s jeans. His mouth drags wetly over Louis’s jaw, his teeth and tongue making Louis’s head spin. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, swallowing thickly when Harry’s hands work their way inside his jeans. His hands are so steady, confident and sure, like he’s done this a million times before, like he can’t feel how Louis’s fucking shaking against him. “Yeah, yeah, please.”

Harry drops gracelessly to his knees, his kneecaps thudding against the hardwood floors, yanking Louis’s skinny jeans down with him. Louis has to reach out to steady himself, his fingers tangling in Harry’s hair, and Harry fucking _moans_ at the touch.

“You can pull,” he murmurs into the crook of Louis’s hip, looking up at Louis with hungry, sinful eyes. It's not a look Louis’s used to seeing on people between his legs — seductive, flirty, vaguely interested, maybe, but never _this_. Harry licks his lips and breathes against Louis’s overheated and hypersensitive skin, and then he holds Louis’s gaze as he mouths over Louis’s balls.

Louis has to squeeze his eyes shut for a few dizzying seconds and hold on to Harry’s shoulder so he doesn’t fucking pass out. When he opens his eyes again, Harry’s rubbing his mouth obscenely all over Louis’s junk, giving him sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kisses and soft little bites. It looks filthy. It feels even better.

“Yeah?” Harry whispers hotly, barely loud enough for Louis to hear over the pounding of blood in his ears. He nuzzles Louis’s pubes and fists his cock, dragging his wet mouth over his balls again.

“Yeah,” Louis begs, trying to keep his knees from giving out. “Yeah, _please_.”

Harry keeps looking at him as he sucks Louis into his mouth, his pretty plump lips sliding wetly over the head to lick and suck and tease and torture. Louis can’t help the sounds he makes, the graceless, shocked groan at the sight of this gorgeous boy on his knees for him. He’s barely in Harry’s mouth, and already it’s the best head he’s ever gotten in his life.

When a well-timed flick of his tongue makes Louis’s hips kick, Harry just rolls with it, taking Louis deeper with each wet, slow suck, and then impossibly deep, and then into his _fucking throat_. Harry’s eyelashes flutter shut, his nails digging into Louis’s hip, and when his nose grazes Louis’s pubes, Louis doesn’t think either of them are breathing anymore.

Harry’s throat is vice-tight, devastating, the best/worst fucking thing Louis has ever felt, and he fists his hand in Harry’s hair and tries desperately not to come right there. It takes every inch of restraint he’s got to keep his hips still, to let Harry control this, to not fuck into him and chase the orgasm he’s already teetering on the edge of.

“Fuck,” Louis says breathlessly, everything in his body coiled tightly. One stiff breeze and he’s going to come his fucking brains out. “Harry, _fuck_. I’m— Close.”

Harry’s eyes blink open, wet and pink and glazed-over and intense, and it hits Louis straight in the stomach. He can’t help himself from running his fingertips over Harry’s jaw, over his swollen throat as Harry stays perfectly still, holding Louis’s gaze with wet eyes.

Louis wants to tell him he’s beautiful, but he can’t. 

Then Harry pulls back slowly, almost painfully slowly, his spit-slick lips tight around Louis’s cock. He grins when he pulls off, breathing hard, a string of saliva still connecting them. “So good,” Harry mutters, his voice gruff and hoarse and throaty. He swirls his tongue around the head of Louis’s cock again, humming. “So good in my mouth.”

Harry sucks Louis’s dick like he fucking _loves it_ , like it actually gets him off, too, like he isn’t just doing it to be nice. It’s all too fucking much.

“Gonna come,” Louis blurts when Harry sucks him deep again. Harry’s barely even touched him and he’s not going to last. He should feel embarrassed, but instead he just feels desperate and wanton and greedy. “Can I— in your mouth?”

Harry’s nostrils flare in response. “Yeah,” he pleads, barely pulling off Lou’s cock. His voice is still muffled by a generous mouthful when he says, “Fuck yeah, c’mon.”

Harry sucks him hard, fast, _deep_ and the back of Louis’s head slams against the wall behind him, his fingers fisting tight in Harry’s hair, his hips bucking forwards without his say-so, and Harry moans and swallows Louis back down his throat. His fingers slip unexpectedly behind Louis’s balls and Louis feels the orgasm _wrenched_ out of him.

Harry swallows all of it, humming around Louis’s hypersensitive prick, licking him clean and holding him through the shakes. Louis gasps for breath, dizzy with the force of it, his knees weak and his vision fuzzy. And then Harry’s there, pressed flush against him, pressing him back against the wall to keep him upright. Louis shudders again, letting his head loll forwards onto Harry’s shoulder, fisting his hands in Harry’s clothes. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

"Shh," Harry says softly, ruffling the back of Louis’s hair. His face feels wet and warm and sticky; Louis can’t help but rub his own against it. It feels filthy. It feels devastatingly intimate. "Was that okay?”

Laughter bursts out of Louis’s chest, breathless and slightly hysterical. “Fuck you, was that _okay_.”

Harry nuzzles Louis until their lips meet again, and Louis melts against him, wraps his arms around Harry’s neck and kisses him back like he didn’t just fucking come, like he’s turned on all over again, like he wants to bring Harry off and make him sweat and moan and feel good.

Louis reaches down between them with cautious hands, and Harry’s already there, unbuttoning his fly and forcing Louis’s hand into his pants. “Yeah,” he breathes when Louis’s hand wraps around his cock and works it out of its tight confines. It feels massive in Louis’s hand, hot and hard and slick at the tip. He’s too scared to look down, too captivated by Harry’s eyes to look away. They’re so impossibly green, the pupils blown wide with lust and booze. “Yeah, like that. So close, c’mon.”

Louis starts to tug him off, too fixated on making Harry feel good to even consider that he doesn’t know what he’s doing, and Harry kisses him desperately, wetly, messily, like Louis’s getting him right, and Louis doesn’t know what possesses him to do it, but he reaches around Harry’s back and slides his fingers tentatively between his arsecheeks.

“Fuck,” Harry gasps, biting Louis’s bottom lip and humping into his hand, his arsecheeks squeezing tight around the tips of Louis’s hesitant fingers as he gets closer. He tastes sweet like cocktails and bitter like come, and it should be gross but Louis can’t get enough of him. He groans, a soft, frustrated, “Please, just— fingers, _please_.”

A bare, awful moment of hesitation passes before Louis mans up and presses deeper into Harry’s cleft, pushing until Louis’s fingers slide over Harry’s arsehole and— and Harry’s body jerks violently against his own, his teeth catching on Louis’s bottom lip, his knees buckling the slightest, and then, finally, Louis’s name falling from Harry’s mouth like a prayer.

—

Louis’s still trembling and overwhelmed and shell-shocked when Harry leads him down the hall and into a sprawling kitchen that wouldn’t look out of place in a posh decorating magazine. He turns a dimmer switch on his way in, bathing the room in a soft golden glow. Louis’s wiped his hands on his jeans, but they still smell like sweat and come and sex. _Harry’s_ sex.

“Need food,” Harry says, grinning over his shoulder as he opens the massive stainless steel fridge. Louis drops into one of the bar stools, trying in vain to snap out of his post-sex daze and sober up enough to process what the fuck just happened. “Sex and booze always make me hungry. And dancing. Fuck, I don’t know, everything makes me hungry.”

Louis laughs helplessly, watching Harry empty the fridge of cheese and ham and pickles and mustard and some sort of red sauce. He can’t work out how to sit or where to put his hands, all he can think of is that they smell dirty and wrong and completely fucking perfect. “Wouldn’t mind a kebab, if I’m honest.”

“This’ll be better than a kebab,” Harry promises, turning the stove on and scooping butter into a frying pan. He smirks as he licks a smudge of butter off his finger. His cheeks are still flushed the most beautiful shade of pink, his lips swollen from Louis’s biting kisses, from his— _god_. “Promise.”

Louis melts against him on pure, wretched instinct when Harry comes close again, as Harry places his hands on the counter behind him and brushes their noses together. Louis flushes all over, biting down on his lip to keep from begging for it. He wants to feel Harry’s mouth again, wants Harry to hold his face and kiss him until he’s shaking with it. “Fighting words.”

Harry tilts his head to nuzzle Louis’s ear, sighing softly. “You’ll see.”

Louis buries his face in Harry’s neck, brings his hands up to stroke Harry’s sides. He’s all muscle underneath his damp T-shirt, hard all over in a way that girls decidedly aren’t. Louis slips a hand across Harry’s chest, finding it flat and hairless and smooth. Harry kisses him again, kisses him slow and sweet and dirty in a way that makes Louis’s toes curl. Harry’s heart hammers against Louis’s flattened palm.

It takes everything in him not to beg. He wouldn’t even know what to beg for, except for _more, please, more_.

He makes a truly undignified sound when Harry pulls back to butter bread and seemingly pack everything in his fridge between slices of posh-looking bread. He flicks the kettle on and gets two cups out of a cupboard, moving effortlessly between tasks like they didn’t drink four cocktails between them at the bar.

Louis just wants to look at him and look at him and look at him. Instead he turns to look around Harry’s flat, at the stainless steel in his kitchen and the expensive-looking artwork on the walls leading into the moonlit living room. “You live with your parents, still?”

“Nah,” Harry says, dumping their over-stuffed sandwiches onto the sizzling butter and adjusting the knobs of the stove. He licks his fingers clean, even though there’s a perfectly workable tea towel right there. “Boyfriend. He’s older, makes a fair bit of money. How’d you take your tea?”

Louis’s blood runs cold. “Sorry?”

“Tea,” Harry repeats, pouring out two cups with a strange smile, like he didn’t just say what he said. He leans his hip against the kitchen counter, looking oddly stiff in his movements for the first time all night. “Sugar? Milk? Don’t have proper milk, though, I hope soya’s okay.”

 _Boyfriend._ Louis’s stomach swoops. He tries to tell himself it's guilt and not disappointment. “What was that?”

“It’s fake milk from soybeans or almonds or egg or something.”

Louis swallows thickly, his fingers tightening around the arm of the bar stool. “You have a boyfriend?”

“Oh,” Harry says strangely, his brow furrowing a little. “It's— it’s not. He’s fine with this, don’t worry, it’s like an open relationship or whatever. We both mess around on the side, always come home to each other, that sort of thing.”

“Home,” Louis repeats incredulously, trying not to dwell on _mess around_ , like that’s all this was. He suddenly doesn’t quite know how to sit on the chair, where to put his hands. “Like, is he here now?”

Harry laughs, like any of this is funny, poking at their sandwiches with his hands, even though there’s a perfectly fine spatula hanging right there. “Nah, he’s in Manchester for work. Won’t be home ‘til tomorrow afternoon or summat. It’s cool, seriously, don’t worry.”

Louis feels a sudden, horrible urge to leave, because it feel very acutely _not cool_ to him. “D’you like it like that? Open?”

Harry shrugs, belatedly turning the overhead fan on. He licks his fingers clean again, meeting Louis’s eyes with that same strange, nervous look on his face. It strikes Louis that Harry might not be comfortable either, but maybe he’s better than Louis at hiding it. “I don't mind. He's brilliant and he’s my best mate and I get sex out of it. Why not, right?”

Louis lets that sink in, that someone lives in this house with Harry and eats breakfast with him and probably loves him. That Harry looks up at someone else on his knees like he looked at Louis, except for how he actually means it with them. Fuck, Louis’s a fucking idiot. “Think I might go, then.”

He could still give Hannah a call, hope she’s not sobered up enough to change her mind about having him ‘round. 

“No,” Harry argues, looking genuinely and confusingly disappointed. He puts his hand on Louis’s arm to keep him from getting up, sliding onto the bar stool beside him. “Hey. Seriously, it’s so cool. Don’t worry about it. We can eat sandwiches and hang out. We don’t have to do anything else, if you don’t want.”

As though Louis _not wanting_ could exist in any conceivable realm of possibility. “I don’t cheat,” Louis says, a little harsher than he meant to. He should want to shove Harry’s hand off of him, shouldn’t want to pull Harry closer and kiss him until everyone else in the world disappears. “Or, whatever, help people cheat. That’s not me.”

“It’s not cheating,” Harry says softly, knocking their knees together. “It’s Saturday, he’s probably fucking someone he picked up on Canal Street as we speak. I don’t mind; he doesn’t mind. It’s cool. I’d like you to stay.”

Louis swallows, hesitating. He shouldn’t allow this, no good can come of it. He’s only barely gotten through Harry’s front door, and already he’s in way too deep. “Do this a lot, do you? _Mess around?_ ”

Harry frowns, seemingly taken aback. “What, and you don’t?”

Louis turns his head to scratch at the back of his neck, needing a moment. He can’t exactly say _no_ , can’t exactly say, _you’re the first bloke I’ve ever even snogged_ , can’t exactly say _I thought maybe you liked me back_. “Should probably go.”

“I don’t really like sleeping alone,” Harry says, smiling a little too earnestly when Louis meets his eyes. It makes Louis’s stomach clench, as does Harry’s hand sliding up his arm and settling on the side of his neck. “I’m a versatile spooner, if that sweetens the pot.”

“Um.”

“I’d really fucking like you to stay,” Harry says softly, gently, like this is any kind of special to him, and Louis hates that he wants to let himself believe it is. “It’s late, right? We’ve got tea and sandwiches. You might as well stay.”

Louis knows he’s going to regret it if he gives in. Somehow, though, he thinks he would’ve ended up regretting it even more if he left. “Okay.”

“It’s cool,” Harry says, coming close to wrap his arms around Louis’s neck. He leans close to nuzzle his nose, to brush his lips against Louis’s, to touch him like he’s someone special, not just some willing one-night-stand he’s brought home while his lover’s out of town. “I want you to stay.”

Louis closes his eyes, letting himself be kissed. He hates how nice it feels to him, how little it clearly means to Harry. Hates how Harry’s slow, beautiful kisses make him all melty and weak for him, how they push all the noise out of Louis’s head and make him greedy and desperate and warm all over. “Okay.”

—

Harry’s bedroom is painted pink, with an ornate white bed and crisp white sheets. It looks pretty like a girl’s room, except for how it’s messy on one side like a boy lives in it. Louis tries not to wonder what Harry’s boyfriend’s like, if he likes expensive art and girly furniture and stainless steel kitchen appliances. He sits gingerly on the messy side of the bed while Harry flicks through a box of vinyls in one corner. 

“I hope you like old music,” Harry says softly when he pulls out an old, worn sleeve. “Found this at a charity shop last week, can’t stop listening to it.”

It isn’t something Louis would otherwise listen to, but it’s perfect when Harry takes his clothes off and crawls under the covers in just his pants. Louis takes off his socks and trousers and gingerly slides in beside him. The bed smells like Harry, but also, unmistakably, like someone else.

And yet Harry does that thing again as they eat, looks at him like he’s the only other person in the world, and the lady on the record sings _you and me, nobody baby but you and me_ and Louis doesn’t know how to stop himself from leaning in to meet Harry’s kiss when it comes. They kiss until they can’t hold their sandwiches anymore, kiss until they’re lying down, kiss for ages, chaste and playful and easy giving way to something different, until Harry’s unmistakably hard on top of him, his hips pressing down against Louis’s. Louis spreads his legs on pure, wretched instinct, even if he’s never spread his legs for anyone before.

Harry pants against his mouth, cupping Louis through his pants and making him sweat. “Got condoms, if you want.”

Louis feels himself flush all over, his skin prickling with desire and shame and _want_. He wonders if Harry can feel him getting impossibly harder under his hand, if he can feel how desperately he’s trying not to grind up against him. He swallows, the _yes, please, fuck, yes_ caught in his throat.

“Only if you want,” Harry breathes into his ear, squeezing the head of Louis’s cock in his fist. It makes Louis’s toes curl in the fitted sheet. “We don’t have to do anything.”

“Slow,” Louis manages through gritted teeth. “If that’s— uh. It’s— it’s been a while.”

Harry pulls back to look at Louis with an indecipherable look on his face. He takes his hand off Louis’s cock to steady himself on his hip. “You want me to fuck _you_?”

“No,” Louis says quickly, swallowing. He clears his throat, swallows again, forces out, “Uh. Yes.”

A slow grin spreads on Harry’s face as he leans close again, his hand trailing up the inside of Louis’s thigh and cupping him again. “That… yeah, okay. Don’t really do that much, but that’d be— uh. Yeah..”

Louis doesn’t do that _at all_ , but he can’t help how desperately he wants to do that with Harry, how he wants to spread himself wide and lay himself bare and let Harry deep inside him. How he wants _everything_ Harry can give him, before he walks away empty-handed.

Louis shudders when Harry’s fingers slip beneath the leg of his boxers, touching the tender dip where thigh curves into arse. “You’ve done it before, yeah?”

“Of course.”

Harry nips at Louis’s ear. “Yeah?”

Louis swallows thickly, confesses, “Mostly girls.” He reaches back out to touch Harry’s thigh, feeling it firm and lean and strong under his hand. He slides his hand up a little, feeling brave as he pushes their hips together. “But I want to.”

Harry nuzzles his ear again, keeping still and quiet like he’s deliberating. He’s so hard against Louis, so undeniably big. If he hears the things Louis isn’t explicitly saying, he doesn’t call him out. Instead he reaches across him, digging through the nightstand on the tidy side of the room until he finds a half-empty tube of slick. 

It looks unapologetic and expensive, the world _anal_ spelled out in big capital letters, entirely different to Louis’s guilty little pump bottle from Boots. Louis lets out a breath.

“We don’t have to,” Harry says, leaving the tube on a pillow and ducking his head to mouth at Louis’s neck. He lowers himself carefully, letting Louis feel all of his weight on top of him. It makes Louis’s spine sizzle with desire, makes him feel fucking crazy with it. “I’m cool doing something else.”

“I want to,” Louis says, thankfully, instead of _I want it to be you_. He reaches down to push Harry’s pants off his bum, letting his fingers graze the curve where his cheeks meet, not going any further. Harry shudders against him, grinding his cock down against Louis’s own. Louis’s voice catches when he says, “Want you to fuck me.”

Harry groans, breathless and overcome. “Fuck, you’re just. You’re— Fuck, Lou, get naked.”

Louis’s been with his fair share of girls, but nothing could've prepared him for this, for how Harry fingers him likes he's special, how he takes his time, how he's looking at Louis like he can't look away. How he's licking his lips and groaning in sympathy when Louis gasps, like he's hanging on every one of Louis’s sighs, like he's getting off on getting Louis off. 

It's heady and intoxicating. It's nothing like Hannah. Nothing like anyone Lou's ever touched or been touched by, nothing at all like what he thought sex was meant to feel like.

Everything outside of this moment disappears. He's in Harry's bed, shaking around his careful, clever fingers, and for a while it feels like it’s just the two of them in the entire world. He wants Harry to take him and hold him tight like some fucking romance novel, wants to know what it feels like to be so full of someone that you can’t tell where they end and you begin.

He can’t blame this on being drunk. Alcohol doesn’t explain this, his senses acute and hyper-aware, his nerve endings sizzling, his body lit up like a live wire under Harry’s clever hands.

For all that Harry fingers him and sucks him and warms him up, it’s still fucking painful when he pushes in. It isn’t the first time Louis’s had something up his bum, but it’s different like this, different with one leg over Harry’s shoulder and the other folded up under Harry’s armpit, different when Harry’s making that blissed-out, overwhelmed face as he breaches him.

It still feels like it's splitting Louis in half, and he helplessly folds in on himself as he tries to take it. Harry goes completely still, breathless with the effort. “Hey. Shit. You okay?”

Louis’s got his eyes squeezed shut, but he nods. 

“Hey, don’t— don’t.” Harry pulls out of him and the pulling out somehow hurts more than the slide in. Louis tries to catch his breath, relieved at the reprieve once the discomfort fades. “Don't— Too fast?”

“No,” Louis says quickly, before, “Maybe— maybe a little.”

“Sorry,” Harry murmurs, pressing kisses to Louis’s forehead, to his temple, his cheek, his jaw, his mouth. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, let me just—”

Louis doesn’t even hear Harry getting more lube, too overwhelmed by Harry’s kisses to notice anything else. Harry kisses him until he’s hard again, until his spine relaxes against the mattress, until Louis’s spreading his legs and reaching for Harry’s cock and whispering, “Try again.”

Harry doesn’t, though. Instead he slips his slick fingers back inside and ducks his head to take Louis back into his mouth. Louis’s hands slip into Harry’s hair like they belong there, tugging gently until Harry’s sucking him slow and sweet and in perfect time with his clever fingers.

It’s too much, and it’s not enough, and Louis could come like this but he doesn’t want to.

Harry's smiling when Louis pulls him back up for a kiss, his damp curls hanging in his eyes. “Better?”

“Fucking brilliant. Try—” Harry’s knuckles drag over that spot again and sends Louis’s back arching, his toes curling and his mouth dropping open. “—Try again. Please.”

 _This isn't the sex you have with a one night stand_ , Louis thinks again, staring helplessly up at Harry, as Harry gently folds Louis’s legs back against his chest. This is nothing like the sex he's had with Hannah, nothing like any sex he’s ever had with anyone. It's going to hurt when it ends. It hurts already.

“Try to push me out like you’re… _you know_ ,” Harry murmurs, holding himself still against Louis’s hole. “Makes it easier, promise.”

“It’s okay,” Louis assures him, but he still can’t stop himself from wincing when Harry presses against him again. Louis wants him so much it makes him dizzy. He’s never been this fucking terrified of anything in his entire life, never been so desperately turned on, never felt so completely fucking naked with anyone in his life. “Just— Just do it.”

“Hey.” Harry nuzzles his nose, angling for another kiss. “Why did the prawn leave the seafood gym?

“What the—”

“Humour me.”

“Is this really the right time for weightlifting seafood?” Louis hisses, digging his nails into Harry’s lower back, trying to get him to _fucking do it already_ , trying to get this over with and get to the part where Louis finally gets what he wants. “What the fuck?”

“Because he pulled a mussel,” Harry whispers, grinning from ear to ear. He presses a kiss to the inside of Louis’s knee, slowly pushing forwards. “Get it? You don’t get it.”

“No,” Louis breathes, trying in vain to relax, to bear down like Harry said. “I get it.”

“You’re not laughing,” Harry says, sounding genuinely offended. He shifts again so he can wrap his still-slick hand around Louis’s cock and squeeze tight. “It’s a good joke.”

“It’s not a good fucking— _Oh_ , oh god, oh fuck, _god_ , fuck. _Harry,_ oh fuck.”

“Hold still,” Harry says, slowly moving the hand between them and keeping his hips perfectly still. “Breathe, try to push back. Look at me.”

“Oh god. I— it— _Harry_.”

“Look at me.”

Louis blinks his wet eyes open, meeting Harry’s bright, startling eyes. “It’s a shit joke,” he chokes out, bringing his hand up to cup the back of Harry’s neck. He pulls Harry close to taste his mouth again, his kisses more teeth and breath and tongue than anything else. “Fucking awful.”

“Do you want to hear another one?”

Louis barks out an incredulous laugh, short and sharp and— _fuck_ —something about it forces Harry deeper inside him, and then Harry's all the way in, his hips flush against the back of Louis's thighs.

Harry’s nostrils flare, his breath coming out in short, sharp gasps. He keeps twisting his wrist over the head of Louis’s prick, soothing him through it.

Harry feels _big_ inside him, big enough to push everything else out of Louis’s mind, big enough to make him sweat and shake and finally fucking _know_ about himself, almost too big to take. Harry holds perfectly still for a long, terrible moment, keeping their foreheads pressed tightly together. Louis feels himself relaxing, little by little, settling into the moment with him. They’re so close, touching all over, so completely caught up in each other.

“Okay,” Louis breathes once the worst of it has eased off. He tugs at the hair at the nape of Harry's neck, tilting his chin up to steal another kiss. “Go, it’s good.”

Harry moves his hips back experimentally, making Louis’s eyes flutter shut. _Fuck_ , it’s so much, so good, so tight, so deep. He can already feel he’s going to come like this, with Harry on top of him and all around him, all the way up inside him. He pushes Harry’s hand off his prick, wanting to make this last. Harry links their fingers together, bringing Louis’s arm up over his head and pressing a kiss into his armpit.

“Still good?” Harry asks, as he’s carefully pushing back inside, the slow drag of his prick making Louis’s body _sing_.

“So good,” Louis breathes, meeting Harry’s eyes. He can’t help but grin at how this all feels, how it feels to be pinned down and getting fucked in the arse by a boy who looks at him like that. He squeezes Harry’s hand, turning his head to press a kiss to his wrist. “Fucking _best_.”

Harry’s answering grin feels a little bit like sunlight coming out from behind a cloud, blinding and warming and heartbreakingly beautiful. He moves Louis’s legs to fit more easily between them, and Louis wraps his knees high on Harry’s torso, whimpering when the change in angle makes Harry’s cock drag over that really sensitive spot. 

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, hugging Harry’s torso with his knees and tilting up to get more pressure. He clings to Harry’s neck, squeezes his thighs around Harry’s back. “Fuck, yeah, that’s— ugh. Harry.”

“Fuck,” Harry says, strangely softly, picking up the pace and making Louis’s head swim. “Look at you.”

Louis’s breath feels all caught up in his chest. He’s just lying there on his back, taking Harry’s dick. There’s no reason for him to be out of breath, but he feels dizzy with it. “Look at yourself. Your face is all stupid.”

Harry cups his cheek, pressing that bloody grin against Louis’s mouth. “No, Lou. Fuck, _you_.”

Louis comes without quite meaning to, his dick caught in the friction between their bodies, the orgasm torn from him like something he didn't mean to give away, neither of them having gotten anywhere near his dick. It catches like wildfire, heat exploding everywhere inside him, coming in waves as Harry keeps dicking into him, the pleasure deep and wild and endless. He clings, unable to help himself.

“Fuck,” Harry says, looking down at the mess Louis's made between them. He slows down, but he doesn't stop. “I can't believe you just…”

Louis swallows, struggling to keep his eyes open, completely fucking overwhelmed. He can't believe any of this. 

“Do you want me to stop? If it's too sens—”

“No,” Louis says immediately, gripping Harry’s lower back to keep him there. A little softer, a little less desperate, he adds, “No, please, it's. It's okay.”

It's devastating, is what it is. It’s like he can feel his own pulse in his arse, like every fucking twitch of Harry inside him sends another wave of delicious aftershocks rolling through his body.

“I can pull out,” Harry offers, but Louis just shakes his head, digging a heel into the mattress and urging him to move again.

“Want to watch you,” he says, wincing at how sensitive he already is. It doesn’t matter; he wants as much of this as he can get before it’s over. “Want to feel it.”

Harry brings Louis’s knees over his forearms and sits back on his knees, hauling Louis’s hips off the mattress and easily holding his weight. Louis expects him to pick up the pace, hammer in and get off, but he slows it down, deep and long and aching, tearing Louis into absolute fucking pieces. He’s so fucking sensitive, every drag of Harry’s fat cock rubbing him raw, laying him bare and making him ache, feeling so much better than he ever thought it could.

Harry looks so beautiful, so flushed and damp and fucked out, sweat glistening on his tattoos, his hair matted with sweat, Louis’s come still striping his lean torso. He’s so strong, the muscles in his arms and stomach flexing as he fucks into Louis’s spent body.

It’s too fucking much. Louis has to close his eyes and let his head fall back on the pillow, gasping as he reaches for leverage against the headboard. “Fuck me,” he begs, out of his head with it. “Fucking give it to me.”

“Fuck,” Harry whispers, his voice strained as he crushes Louis flat against the mattress. His teeth scrape over Louis’s chin, all of his weight pinning Louis down. “Look at you. Fuck, _look at you_.”

Louis pulls him in for a biting kiss, mashing their faces together so Harry won’t see Louis falling apart beneath him, shaking and splintering and unraveling into a million fucking pieces.

“Gonna come,” Harry says after a moment that’s felt completely fucking endless. “Fuck, gonna come inside you.”

Louis thinks _not yet_ and _please don’t stop_ and _stay inside of me forever._

—

It’s so quiet afterwards, the two of them curled up around each other, the sheets all twisted up around them, the two of them more naked than Louis has ever been with anyone in his entire life. Harry cleaned him off with a wet flannel earlier, stopping here and there to kiss and lick and nose around Louis’s exhausted body.

He briefly got his mouth between Louis’s legs, licking into him before Louis realised what he was even doing, and it took barely any time at all before Louis was bucking into his own hand and coming again, with Harry’s tongue deep in his sore, used arse. 

Louis’s exhausted now, his eyes barely open as Harry rests his head on his stomach, playing with the hairs below Louis’s belly button. Louis’s got a hand in Harry’s hair, but he’s not really stroking anymore. He’s going to fall asleep any minute.

He doesn’t know how many times the vinyl has played now, the lady’s voice singing _you and me, you and me, nobody baby but you and me_. He’s so, so wonderfully tired and happy and sated. He’s surprised the sun hasn’t risen yet, the night behind them stretched out long and endless.

Louis sighs, squirming a little when Harry’s fingers ghost over his limp cock. He’s not going to get hard again, he doesn’t think Harry expects him to. It’s just… cuddling, this. It’s nice. “Is it alright if I spend the night?”

“Mm,” Harry says, propping his chin on Louis’s hip. His eyes are half-lidded and smiling. “Course. I can make us French toast in the morning, we can watch TV and eat and nap on the sofa downstairs.”

Louis smiles, tousling Harry’s hair. He thinks he’d very much like that. “Always wanted to live in a house like this,” Louis mumbles, to stop himself from pulling Harry up to kiss him again and again and again. Harry turns his head to press a kiss into Louis’s palm. “Like, when I’m older. Big kitchen, little garden, couple of bedrooms for little ones.”

Harry arches an eyebrow, crawling up on his forearms until he’s curled up on the edge of Louis’s pillow. “You want kids?”

“Mm,” Louis hums, blinking blearily at Harry in the darkness. “You don’t?”

“Never thought about it, to be honest.” Harry opens his mouth like he’s about to say something else, then seems to think better of it. Louis’s grateful. He doesn’t want to hear about Harry’s plans for a family, or lack thereof, with whoever else lives here. He’s going to keep pretending for as long as he can, pretend that Harry’s just a nice boy he’s gone home with who might want to see him again after this. No point in ruining a nice night with the truth.

“Always think I’ll buy a little house,” Louis continues drowsily, failing to let sleeping dogs lie. “A fixer-upper someplace outside of London, if I can afford it. A nice soft sofa to watch TV on, a drawer of biscuits and sweets, cookbooks in a bookshelf.”

Harry smiles softly, yawning against the side of Louis’s face. “Sounds dead nice.”

Louis yawns as well, too tired to keep his eyes open anymore. Harry nudges him onto his side, wrapping himself around his back like a big, warm, comforting spoon. It’s been so long since anyone let Louis be a little one. “I didn’t grow up someplace nice,” he murmurs into the quiet between them. “I’d like my kids to have different.”

Harry’s arms come around Louis’s, his nose pressed against the back of Louis’s neck and his fingers slipping between Louis’s. “Never really thought that far ahead, me.”

Louis squeezes Harry’s fingers between his own, trying not to picture Harry in that future or any other future past tomorrow morning.

—

Louis wakes with a start, to Harry climbing out of bed and frantically reaching for his clothes. The sun’s filtering through the curtains, Louis’s body sore all over in the oddest of ways, a hangover already blooming behind his temples. “Wh—”

“Nick,” Harry says shortly, pulling on a pair of track suit bottoms he’s found on the floor. The shirt he pulls on is inside out. “Back early from Manchester.”

A surge of adrenaline slams into Louis as he tumbles out of bed and tries to unearth his own clothes from the mess on the floor. He doesn’t— can’t find his— fuck— he doesn’t really know what to do with himself. Harry said it was okay, that it wasn’t cheating, that his boyfriend knew but… Harry looks guilty and flustered and panicked, like whatever they’ve done was _not okay_.

“Stay,” Harry says, one hand on the doorknob and the other stopping Louis in his tracks. “Uh, stay— stay here a minute. Just— just a minute.”

Louis nods reluctantly, crossing his arms over his chest as Harry jogs downstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. The door’s been left open, and Louis hears murmured conversation and telling silences as Harry greets his lover. 

It hits him then, that Harry’s downstairs kissing someone else, and Louis’s up here, like some sort of _other woman_ who’s overstayed her welcome. He reaches for the rest of his clothes, furious with himself. For a moment there it felt special between them, _he_ felt special, but he’s in someone else’s bedroom after fucking someone else’s boyfriend, and he needs to go.

He can’t stay here a minute like Harry asked, can’t stay here at all, can’t handle any part of this. He needs to go.

He carefully tiptoes his way down the stairs, hoping against hope that he can sneak out without being caught.

But then he spots them in the kitchen, Harry pressed up against a kitchen counter and being kissed, slowly, intimately, with no rush, by someone who clearly knows how he likes to be kissed. It hits Louis in the stomach like the worst sort of betrayal. He fucking hates this guy, hates his posh suit and his gravity-defying hair and how he’s touching Harry like he has any fucking right to. 

“What’s up with you?” the guy — _Nick_ , apparently — asks softly, pulling back to cup Harry’s face and meet his eyes. He brushes his thumb over Harry’s pink lips. “You’re all tense, love.”

“Nothing,” Harry says, ducking his head and pressing his forehead against Nick’s mouth. His fingers fidget on the lapels of his lover’s suit jacket. “Tired. How was your trip?”

“Same old,” Nick sighs, tucking a stray curl behind Harry’s ear. “Finchy’s a slave-driver, Fifi’s a legend, the music industry is woefully corrupt.” His voice softens noticeably, a smile spreading against Harry’s temple. “You're quite lovely to come home to, you know. Definitely worth driving through the night for.”

“Mm.”

“You look a right mess, though. Did last night get a bit trashy?”

“Uh… Um. Not really.”

Nick steps back a little, taking a moment to take Harry in. “Oh, alright then. Cheeky. Wait, don't tell me.” Nick leans in to smell him, nuzzling the crook of his neck where Louis’s just been. “Mmm, big. Blonde? Personal trainer. Fat cock. Laughed at all your dumb jokes.”

Harry ducks his head again, blushing hard. “Nick—”

Nick laughs, reaching into Harry's track suit bottom to cup his arse. “Did he fuck you? Get you all messy and desperate and put his big prick inside you? You still open enough to take me?”

Louis can see the outline of Harry’s spine stiffen through his thin shirt. “Stop it.”

Nick cups Harry’s face again, his fingers long and sinewy against Harry’s flushed cheeks. “Love, I'm just joking. I’m happy you finally got some, almost didn't think you had it in you. What's up with you?”

“Nothing, I, uh—”

“Oh.” Louis doesn’t realise he’s been caught staring until Nick clears his throat. Louis meets his eyes, taking in the frown on Nick’s face. “Well, hello there.”

“I’m leaving,” Louis says, just as Harry says, “That's— Louis.”

“Louis,” Nick sing-songs, the furrow in his brow softening a little. Louis should move, but he can’t. Should leave, but he can’t. Shouldn’t shove this posh, arrogant, cradle-snatching arsehole off of Harry, but he might. “Bit young for you, I would’ve thought.”

“I’m twenty-two,” Louis says defensively, bringing his arms across his torso. He doesn’t know why he feels intimidated, or guilty, or like he’s done something wrong. Maybe because Harry looks like he’s done something he shouldn’t have, maybe because Harry won’t meet either of their eyes.

Nick looks between Louis and Harry, chewing his lips like he’s taking stock of things. He's still got an arm around Harry's waist. His body language is casual still, but there's no misunderstanding. He's holding Harry like Harry is his. “You staying for breakfast then, Louis? I didn't know we'd have company, but I'm happy to share.”

Louis glances at the bag of pastries on the counter, then flicks his eyes to Harry, who’s still pressed against Nick’s side and looking at the ground beside Louis’s shoes. He doesn't know what to make of either.

It's like he can still feel Harry inside him, like Harry hollowed out a spot inside of him just for himself. It’s too much, this, watching him pressed up against someone else. “I’ve got to go.”

He hears Nick teasingly say, “Manners, Harold, walk your guest out,” before he hears Harry’s footsteps come after him in the hallway. He snatches his coat off the floor and shoves his feet into his shoes, making quick work of the front door as he flees. He’s halfway down the street before he feels Harry’s hand on his elbow.

Harry’s eyes are unreadable when Louis meets them, his hand clenched tight in Louis’s coat. He's so close Louis can count his eyelashes, the freckles on his nose, close enough that Louis can see how swollen his lips are from Louis’s cock and kisses. 

Louis isn't even the last person Harry’s kissed. It makes his stomach turn.

Harry says, “I want to see you again.”

Louis glances past him, to where his lover’s likely making them breakfast and brewing coffee behind the still-open door. “Behind his back?”

“No.” Harry frowns, but Louis somehow doesn’t quite believe him. “We both fuck around, it’s not a big deal. He wouldn’t mind.”

Louis flinches. It wasn't just fucking around, not to Louis. It felt like a pretty big deal in there just now, felt like a pretty big deal when Harry was moving inside him, felt like a pretty big deal when Nick caught him standing there. “I don’t know.”

Harry licks his lips and swallows thickly. “Please? I’d. I’d like to see you again.”

Louis looks down at his shoes, the laces undone on the wet pavement. Harry's feet are still bare beside his, dainty and turned inwards. His ankles say _never gonna_ and _dance again_. Louis got to have a proper, lingering look at him earlier, after Harry had tied the condom and collapsed onto his back. He’d kissed the inside of his left ankle as Harry gave him a dopey, fucked-out smile. “I’d really like to see you again.”

Louis would too, is the thing, but he knows better than to court disaster. “I don’t think—”

“Hey—” and then Harry’s holding his face with two hands and biting his lips like he’s begging for it. And then he actually begs for it, a soft murmured, “Please.”

Louis swallows, licking his lips and tasting Harry’s breath as he nods helplessly. He kisses Harry back, unable to help himself, and something horrible and yearning spreads across his chest. He’s going to get his heart broken, if it isn’t already.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket with shaking hands, catching a few rambling, abusive texts from Hannah on his screen before pressing it into Harry’s palm. Unsurprising, she’s never taken well to being ignored. “Give us your number then.”

Harry does, and then looks at Louis’s mouth when he hands it back over. Louis wants to kiss him again, wants to pull him flush against him and lose himself in Harry’s body. “I had a nice time.”

“Mm,” Louis says, glancing at Harry’s kitchen window. He wonders if they’re being watched. He takes a few steps backwards, just in case. “I should go.”

Harry nods, biting his lip like there's something else he'd like to say. Louis doesn't let him, turning his back before he loses his nerve and walking briskly away.

He deletes Hannah’s texts with still-shaking fingers, and then her number while he’s at it, and then saves Harry’s number as _DON’T DON'T DON'T_ in case he needs a reminder. He doesn’t look back once he’s walked away, squeezing his phone in his clammy hands all the way down Regent’s Park Road, across the bridge and down the stairs to the Chalk Farm tube station and all the way across the city.

“Mum,” he mutters wetly into the receiver when he finally works up the nerve to call, his breath all caught up in his chest and his heart hammering against his ribs. He presses his half-drunk bottle of coke against his flushed cheek, slumping back against his own bedroom door and squeezing his eyes shut. “I did something really fucking stupid last night.”

“Oh, love,” she says, and he hears the flick of her kettle on the other end of the call. "Tell me everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](https://jiksax.tumblr.com/post/190240191034/fic-make-your-body-move-like-mine)
> 
> Title from [”Ready For You” by Years & Years](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MEy3SZyomNk). Other songs mentioned: ["Dancing On My Own" by Robyn](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J294A-R1Cjk) & ["You and Me" by Penny & The Quarters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8rumyup0Os)
> 
> [tumblr](http://jiksax.tumblr.com/) | [twitter](https://twitter.com/jiksax) | [email](mailto:ifckfairies@gmail.com?Subject=Hey%20girl)


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